


Between Times

by semele



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:58:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6301897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/pseuds/semele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most days when Bellamy comes home from work, he’s so tired he can barely speak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shortitude](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/gifts).



> Shameless fluff for shortitude, who demanded massages + pillow talk. I tried.

Most days when Bellamy comes home from work, he’s so tired he can barely speak. It’s not even that the work is so physically hard (let’s be real, he’s had it worse), or that the hours are particularly draining. He can’t even tell what gets him so much except that something clearly does, and when he finally reaches the peace and quiet of his apartment, his relief is almost audible. No people. No noise. No smiling. Just home.

Raven is studying on his couch when he stumbles in, and even that feels like home at this point. Technically, Raven doesn’t live here, but Raven’s flatmates are loud, they are annoying and prone to volunteering for group projects, and so more often than not, she shows up at Bellamy’s uninvited, a stack of books in her bag. Not long ago, they both agreed that it just makes more sense for her to have the spare key.

“I think Clarke and Lexa having a sex marathon,” he informs him as soon as he pokes his head inside. “Hey, did you know that we can almost make robots that pick up orders from a natural flow of speech?”

“Do they make coffee yet?”

“Duh. Get ready to be fired.”

He nods absently and heads to the fridge, praying that he’ll find something at least vaguely edible. There wasn’t really time to eat during the day, because when is there ever, but he should still have…

“You brought me lasagna?” he asks, bewildered, and Raven lets out a laugh.

“I brought _us_ lasagna. Shut up and put it in the oven.”

While dinner is heating up, he has a few minutes to shower and change, and he decides to just emerge in sweats and glasses, too tired to try to impress Raven even though he probably should. Things are strange between them; they’re not strictly platonic friends, but not a couple, either, and he’d probably think about it harder just now, only he’s too busy promising himself that next week, he’s actually going to cook food, because seriously. They can’t just keep living on frozen meals, sandwiches and takeout. Right?

Oh well. Maybe one day he’ll be better at all this.

When he steps out of the bathroom, Raven has already arranged her books into a neat stack on the side, leaving the middle of the table empty but for two clean plates, though where exactly she found clean plates is a mystery. Bellamy gives her a curious look.

“Have you been here all day?” he asks as he takes a seat next to her. Raven looks at him intently, and bites her lip.

“Come on, don’t be stupid. You’ve been on your feet all day. Lie down like a person.”

It’s not a big couch, and so he ends up with his head in her lap, and when she starts stroking his hair, he protests loudly, or tries. It comes out more like a weak grumble.

“I’ll fall asleep.”

“I’ll wake you when there is food.”

There are ten minutes left on the oven timer when he closes his eyes, and they drift out of focus, locked in a weird space between slots that organize his days, divide them between work, chores, rest, friends. His mom would say he’s being stupid; wasting time and making himself groggy for the rest of the evening, when he could just push through, get up, clean the kitchen, and catch second wind. Who knows, maybe he should, but Raven’s hand feels unbelievably good in his hair, and so he stalls. Two more minutes, that’s it. Two more minutes.

“That woman showed up at the shop again today,” he mumbles sleepily. “You know, the one. Apparently Italian leather purses are now very expensive. It makes her life very hard.”

He feels Raven’s thighs quiver a little when she laughs, then she shifts slightly to reach lower with her hand, and give him a bit of a neck rub.

“Did you commiserate?” she asks, amused.

“As well as she tipped me.”

“So not at all?”

He doesn’t even bother confirming, just nods under her hand, and makes an effort to relax his shoulders. Better. This is so much better.

“Did you at least flirt with her?” asks Raven after a moment, and it gets another groan out of him.

“With her husband. She keeps dropping hints how I’m such a gay best friend, and I wanted to see her face.”

That gets him an honest belly laugh and a kiss on the crown of his head, Raven’s hand tugging at his hair playfully.

“I love you,” she says lightly, laughter still present in her voice, and it means nothing, or maybe it means something, hard to tell. They are, after all, in those ten minutes between times, and it’s hard to find clear lines or definitions in this kind of space. 

She brought lasagna. That counts.


End file.
